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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/24547918">what angel wakes me</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/shoutz/pseuds/shoutz'>shoutz</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Final Fantasy XIV</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Arranged Marriage, M/M, Titania Estinien, i have genuinely no idea how to tag this, kind of?</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-06-05</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-06-05</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-04 01:00:45</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>2,043</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/24547918</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/shoutz/pseuds/shoutz</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <em>Till down turn the skies</em>
  <br/>
  <em>Wonted quiet, wanton silence.</em>
  <br/>
  <em>For long do we lie,</em>
  <br/>
  <em>Wond'ring when we'll be...</em>
</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Aymeric de Borel/Estinien Wyrmblood</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>15</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>30</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Collections:</b></td><td>May-U Fic Exchange 2020</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>what angel wakes me</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><ul class="associations">
      <li>For <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nightmist/gifts">Nightmist</a>.</li>



    </ul><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>this was for my beloved ginger for a belated may-u!!! i KNOW this doesn't make sense just LET ME PRETEND please</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>“You mean to broker </span>
  <em>
    <span>peace?</span>
  </em>
  <span> With the </span>
  <em>
    <span>King?</span>
  </em>
  <span> You’re out of your mind!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Their dumbfounded words come back to Aymeric as he approaches the Silent Cliffs on foot. Lyhe Ghiah stretches towards the sky in all its resplendent glory, a glowing beacon in the newly restored night. Lily pads create glowing patches in the water surrounding the massive structure and it adds an otherworldly, ethereal beauty to the mysterious castle. Bits of stone are stained green with weather and age and the ivy cascading across the forgotten structure.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The impressive architecture does not start and end above the water. Some parts of the structure extend far below, the remnants of a small town lost to time, ruins of the past so carefully preserved beneath algae and moss. The path stretches out of the water and up towards the enormous castle. Aymeric can do nothing but follow it ever higher, to his goal.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It had been years upon years since any were able to pass safely into Il Mheg, until the Warrior of Darkness siphoned the light from the sky and restored all to its natural order. Though many still fear treading the fae lands, Aymeric knows his presence upon this shard is no coincidence.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Nor Estinien’s mysterious disappearance from the Source.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The Crystal Exarch had summoned Aymeric and helped him regain his bearings, and the Warrior of Darkness (of Light, as he had been familiar back home) was able to point him in the right direction. Though they did so with a warning: </span>
  <em>
    <span>stay away from the Fuath.</span>
  </em>
  <span> But they had been willing to give context, as well — both to his summoning and the world in which he finds himself.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The pixies of Il Mheg operate under a fairly simple power structure: whoever is able to defeat the previous King takes their place. For a long time, that King had been a lightwarden, felled by the Warrior of Darkness and then replaced by Feo Ul. Once they had given up their crown, though, it fell to another to replace them.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>That day, the great blue wings spanning either side of the castle had turned blood red, sharp and twisting, and a beastial cry could be heard from every deep part of the forest.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The Warrior of Light told Aymeric that the noise was unmistakably draconic.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The pixies themselves remained relatively unchanged, despite the drastic change in leadership. Their King, however, was no longer called Titania — and </span>
  <em>
    <span>that</span>
  </em>
  <span> caught his attention most of all.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Titania is no more!” one had said upon Aymeric’s arrival in Lydha Lran. “Long live our King— King Nidhogg!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>That red glow encapsulates the landscape even now, casting its light over the water below. Two wings of aether and crystal, </span>
  <em>
    <span>dragon</span>
  </em>
  <span> wings he could recognize once he made his approach. His only way of knowing where his friend had gone when he disappeared.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>A deep breath to steel his resolve, before he begins his ascent.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The castle itself is like nothing from his home world, like nothing he has ever seen. Even in the dark, its stained glass windows shine their colors out into the night as a beacon. Beckoning to him even from afar. And what else to do but answer?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The structure’s age is betrayed by its overgrowth of vegetation, despite the pristine, unbroken stone which constructs it. The style of architecture befits both its mysterious origins and ethereal host, sweeping and elegant and almost reminiscent of his home— if Ishgard were somehow more </span>
  <em>
    <span>whimsical</span>
  </em>
  <span> than it is as he knows it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Massive doors part without so much as a sound at his approach. He pauses, inspecting the archway, but all that greets his eyes is a bright red light. Red as his eyes had been, red as his armor and his lance.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Aymeric steels himself once more, useless as it may prove to be.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The red glow fades once he enters. The halls are silent and empty as he passes through them, climbing ever upwards with their red glowing paths and walls. Had he half a mind, he would appreciate the beauty of such a magnificent structure, but a nervous fear keeps his feet plodding one before the other, quick enough to tap a staccato rhythm against the floor as he comes ever closer to his destination.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>A great hall spreads before him when he reaches the peak of the final flight of stairs. High ceilings allow an abundance of light both within and outside of the beautiful stained glass that covers nearly every inch of wall. The light diffuses into the chamber and illuminates the columns, the floor, the stairs leading to the dais on the far end of the room. Aymeric strides in with as much conviction as he can muster.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And from on high, the beast descends.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“A mortal intrudes upon my home,” Estinien says, and his voice is at once everywhere and directly in Aymeric’s head, all-encompassing. Hints of the rough texture his voice had in life, but with overtones of </span>
  <em>
    <span>more.</span>
  </em>
  <span> “You may state your name, that you might die with some shred of dignity remaining to you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The horns are the first thing Aymeric notices, reminiscent of those Nidhogg bore in his life— and, by extension, Estinien himself.  His hair cascades white and long around them, flowing with an unseen breeze, or perhaps simply as a result of existing as such an otherworldly being. A gold crown sits elegantly at the top of his head, unassuming when paired with the rest of his appearance. Red armor clings to his form more like flesh than plate or mail, red iridescent scales covering almost every ilm of his body, save his head and clawed hands. Great red wings spread behind him not unlike those upon the outside of the castle, massive and glowing as they hold him aloft. Bits of angry red claim his cheeks, his jaw, neck — though his eyes glow a deep blue as they bore into Aymeric. They make him feel so small, smaller even still compared to Estinien’s massive new form.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>But they’re </span>
  <em>
    <span>his</span>
  </em>
  <span> eyes, still. Aymeric knows.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Estinien…”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Those eyes narrow in Aymeric’s direction at the breathless address. “That was </span>
  <em>
    <span>my</span>
  </em>
  <span> name, mortal. I would know yours before removing you from my home and my lands. Permanently.”</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Was?</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Aymeric takes a step forward. “Do you not remember me?” he asks, and though his voice carries in the massive hall it feels so quiet in the wake of Estinien’s.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The massive form drifts closer to Aymeric, scrutinizing. The gaze sweeps over Aymeric’s form and he can almost </span>
  <em>
    <span>feel</span>
  </em>
  <span> it as it studies him, searching for any sign of familiarity.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>A fool’s anxiety spurs Aymeric forward. “Aymeric de Borel. We…” He scrambles for the words to qualify their relationship and their past, but none of his expansive vocabulary can properly express what they were— what they are. “We fought together, in another world. Another…another life. Before you were the Fae King Nidhogg, you bore host to a dragon by the same name. You saved my life on countless occasions. You fought for our country more valiantly than any other soldier could hope to achieve. You… You were my friend, and I yours.”</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Friend </span>
  </em>
  <span>seems too weak a word as it escapes his lips, but the damage has been done. Narrowed eyes continue to roam Aymeric’s form as he pleads his case.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Your aether is familiar. So blue. Mayhap there is truth to your words… But Estinien is no more. I am Nidhogg, Fae King. And I will be addressed </span>
  <em>
    <span>as such.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Blind impulse has Aymeric dropping onto a knee in a supplicant kneel, head hung low before him. It isn’t until seconds later that he wonders why he would do such a thing; it seems this Nidhogg boasts of a more subtle power. It comes as no surprise — even in his life before this, Estinien held a certain sway over Aymeric. It seems that becoming a Fae King has not changed this.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“My apologies,” he murmurs.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hm. Curious.” Estinien’s form drifts even closer, head tilted to the side as he studies Aymeric. “Few mortals have dared to tread upon Il Mheg’s soil— fewer still to do so and leave with their lives, or at the very least their minds intact. And none have been so brave as to intrude upon my home. Yet in spite of this, you seek me out directly. It seems your desire to see your </span>
  <em>
    <span>friend </span>
  </em>
  <span>once more has rendered you a fool.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Aymeric looks up, then, and sees Estinien not nearly as massive as he had been moments before. The Fae King Nidhogg stands before him the size of a man — the size Estinien had been, last they spoke. The size he would be if he were truly the Estinien Aymeric remembers.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Have you aught to say for yourself, my little blue mortal? Or were all your words wasted on </span>
  <em>
    <span>him?”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Aymeric clears his throat as a blush rises to his ears. “Right. As you have said, mortals do not dare tread upon your lands lest they incur your wrath or lose their minds— or both. I came on behalf of those people, that they might broker peace with you and yours. Trade could be plentiful and beneficial to both sides, and I have good faith in the people of Norvrandt and their wealth of respect for Il Mheg’s traditions.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>His eyes — normal-sized, now, yet still so striking — narrow in Aymeric’s direction. “And I am to simply take you at your word?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well— I mean, I—”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“And you bring </span>
  <em>
    <span>nothing</span>
  </em>
  <span> to prove your good faith? No offering, not even a small token of goodwill?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Aymeric holds his tongue. The King is right, of course, he has naught to offer save for himself and his belongings.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>But even as that thought crosses Aymeric’s mind, something sparks in Estinien’s eyes. A faint interest. A curiosity in lieu of the malice or trickery he expected.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Ah, but your aether is so familiar… So warm. Perhaps you have brought me an offering by mere chance.” Estinien drifts closer, still studying Aymeric’s form with a curiosity he wishes he could understand. “I will accept your offer. While we have no use of outside materials and lands, we have no quarrel with your people and have no need of such seclusion. Your people may come and go as they please provided they respect the grounds which they tread and the people who reside throughout them.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Aymeric blinks. “You… Truly?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>A hint of mischief quirks at the corner of Estinien’s lips. Perhaps the pixies have changed him in more than mere appearance. “In exchange I will have a consort, chosen from your people to reside here with me until the deepest sleep takes us and we away to Glorianda.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I…” A heat springs to Aymeric’s ears. “Right, yes, I-I am certain such arrangements could be made with someone who is, er, to your liking—”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Estinien reaches back and draws Gae Bolg from his back, twirling it with a flourish before the end is thrust onto the ground with a loud </span>
  <em>
    <span>clack.</span>
  </em>
  <span> It echoes through the chamber, up and up into the high ceilings, bouncing off the windows and back into Aymeric’s ears. He extends his free hand and from a dull spark of aether in the middle of his palm blooms a lily, blood-red and pristine as if he had cut it mere seconds ago.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m sure they could be, my little blue mortal.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Aymeric swallows thickly, stunned speechless. His mouth opens and shuts itself, trying to find words, but none come.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Do you require simpler terms?” Estinien asks. “Very well. Because your aether pleases me and you claim to know who I was before I became King, I would have </span>
  <em>
    <span>you</span>
  </em>
  <span> as my consort.” He extends the lily towards Aymeric, eyes never leaving his own. “But I will not have you against your will.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He releases a breath he didn’t know he had been holding, gaze darting between Estinien and the proffered lily.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Estinien… </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>What little impulse control he may have had leaves him entirely. In a single moment suspended in time he reaches out and takes the flower in a gentle hand, watching in awe as the dull aether burns brighter — an aura of vivid lilac.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Nidhogg — </span>
  <em>
    <span>Estinien</span>
  </em>
  <span> — smiles.</span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>marriage......is what brings us.............together</p><p>i'm <a href="http://twitter.com/shoutzwastaken">@shoutzwastaken</a></p><p>my friends are <a href="https://discord.gg/X6NJJAb">the book club</a> you are cordially invited to join them</p></blockquote></div></div>
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